Please, Please Tell Me
by Rainie Bae
Summary: AU! The only family Jaime has left is his younger sister. To make ends meet, he works on cars in a dingy garage. In comparison is upscale girl, Cassie whom he meets on pure luck. Rating may go up. Jaime/Cassie.
1. Chapter 1

Today was just _not_ his day, Jaime decided, skipping the stairs by two. The hospital elevators were broken (which he saw as a _serious_ problem) and almost slammed into the wall as he skidded onto the platform that was marked for the third floor. He opened the door and into the glossy hallway. Doctors clotted the hallway and nurses ran from room to room. He counted off the doors until he found the right one.

"Milagro, how you feeling?"

"_Perfecto_, it's just a broken femur, I'm fine," Milagro reassured him, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. She held up the clunky dull pink cast. "You get to sign first."

He grinned and pulled a black sharpie from the depths of his backpack and pulled the cap off with his teeth. "Want me to just put my name?"

"Whatever you like," Milagro said, then her face suddenly screwed in concentration. "But don't take up too much room, and no dicks."

Jaime nodded in understanding and wrote his name in a quick, sharp scribble. She examined it before deciding it wasn't hideous and tucked the sharpie into her pocket. "So what happened?"

"I fell," Milagro said, staring at the cast angrily. If she could have, the cast probably would have been melting, she was staring so hard.

He sneezed, wiped his nose with a kleenex and told her that it was bullshit. "You think I'm gonna believe that? Since _Papí_ passed away... I know it's been hard, but they're just asshole kids."

Milagro shrugged, staring at the cast. "I just wanna go home, Jaime."

"Alright, I'm gonna keep the shop open for a couple more hours since I had to close it to grab you. Think you'll be okay up in the house by yourself?"

Milagro rolled her eyes.

* * *

Fixing cars, in his honest opinion, wasn't that bad. It was dealing with the stupid-ass people who owned the cars that were puzzling. When he agreed to fix the brakes on a man's truck for a fixed price, the man agreed. However, after all of it was said and done the man only wanted to pay half the price because it wasn't that big of a hassle.

Eventually they agreed on 3/4 of the price and he sat in the dingy garage with the jack raising the next car he desperately needed to work on.

"Hey," Milagro's voice said, and he jumped from where he was cleaning his hands on an old washrag. She put a grilled cheese on one of the fairly clean tables. "I figured you should eat."

"Thanks, but I need to work," He said, bending down. How people managed to fuck up their cars this bad amazed him.

"I could bring you out some ice cream?" She asked, uncertain and he laughed, putting aside his tools. "Alright. I'll finish up the car in the morning while you're at school."

"Do I _have_ to go to school?" She asked, and when he raised an eyebrow she held up the cast. "I mean, I am disabled."

"You'll have to catch up on work," He reminded her and she nodded in understanding before he even finished.

"Yeah, Jaime, I know. But I don't think I could write that well right now, anyways." She said, stiffly waving her casted arm.

"Whatever but if the school doesn't buy your excuse-"

"They will, no worries," Milagro promised, disappearing back inside the house ajoining the garage he was working in. He eyed the previously forgotten grilled cheese and began to devour it without a second thought.

* * *

Early the next morning, he found himself being awakened by the annoyingly high pitched voice of his cell phone, and he pulled himself from under his covers and grasped for the stupid fucking object.

"Yea?" He asked, and he has the sudden thought of _ohgodtheymight_ be a costumer and not just Bart prank calling him.

"Hi, uhm, my car isn't working."

Okay, costumer. "Could you describe to me some of the things that it's doing? Smoke under the hood-"

"It won't even start. It just makes this awful noise whenever I put the keys in the ignition and try to get it going."

Oh god, he hoped this wasn't going to be an out-of-garage job. "Are you flooding it?"

"No?"

He took a very deep breath. "Do you know what flooding is?"

There was a long pause. Maybe she was googling it. "Listen- can you just come look at my car? I can pay up front if that's the problem-"

"No, just, I need your address, name, and a call-back number," He said, grabbing for a notebook he kept clients in. He flipped it open to a blank page and uncapped it with his teeth. "Go."

"Uhm- alright, The Sunnyshores Apartments, apartment three-thirty-"

He whistled. Those apartments were definitely more upscale compared to the ones like Lakeside that seemed to always be having drug busts and headlines of rape. "Sorry, uh, your name?"

"Cassandra Sandsmark."

He jotted down the name- phonetically and hoped it was right, waiting patiently for her to list off the digits to her phone number.

"Four-two-nine-nine-oh-nine-seven," She listed and he quickly wrote them.

"Alright, I'll be around at two thirty to check out your car," He said, stuffing a pillow over his head to go back to sleep.

"Thank you!" She said chipperly and the line fell flat.


	2. Chapter 2

"He has a nice ass."

Cassie rolled her eyes, taking a sip of water from her cup and watching the mechanic that had been _nice_ enough to come and fix her car. Tim had been right, the guy had a really fucking nice ass. His whole body really, lean and scruffy and tall. She could've just ignored the fact that he was there except he took his shirt off. And Tim was staring so it must have been okay, right? "Should I offer him water? Or lemonade? I think I have lemonade."

Tim raised an eyebrow, "That's the lamest way I can think of to get laid. Don't you have some vodka or coffee or something that actually works? Lemonade is for chick flicks."

"Which you totally cry your eyes out to," Cassie said, pouring a cup of lemonade into a tall glass from a pitcher. "Think he's nice?"

"With an ass like that? Definitely not. All the guys with hot asses have no idea how to properly wield their powerful ass magic."

Cassie sighed, glancing down at the glass of lemonade that was suddenly feeling heavy in her hand. She sat it down. "Maybe talking to him isn't a good idea, huh?"

"Exactly, my sister," Tim said, taking out his phone and scrolling through his texts. "By the way, his name is Jaime. Bart knows him. Friends from highschool or something."

"Is he a jerk?" She asked again.

Tim shooed her, waving a hand. "One question at a time, I can only text so fast. Don't want Bart getting too excited and joining the ass-staring party here too, do you? Apparently he had quite the crush on _Jaime_ in school."

Cassie grit her teeth, waiting for Tim to finish dicking around.

She never got the chance to find out if he was a nice guy or not from Tim, because Jaime walked right in (rude!) and she was able to determine for herself.

"So, you had some pretty bad battery corrosion. Do you ever clean it?"

Her mind blanked, and she almost looked to Tim for help except he was gay and probably knew as much about cars as she did. "Uhm, am I supposed to?" She cringed, waiting for the answer.

He sighed wearily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, uh, I could show you but I need to get back to work-"

"Yes, of course!" She shouted, voice too high, and grabbed for her purse. She fished around in it for a second before deciding _fuck it_ and handed him five crumpled hundred dollar bills.

"Uhm, Miss, this is very kind, but it's too much," He said, looking allergic to the money.

"No, I get paid tomorrow, take it," She said, shoving it into his hands "Besides, it was very nice of you to come here just for a corrosive battery."

After a painstaking moment, he folded the bills up into his hand. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her.

When he left she flipped the thick piece of paper over, noticing the numbers under his name. She almost squealed in excitement- his number! But, wait, what if he was just practicing a formality? What if he wasn't interested but had just wanted to make sure she didn't go to _Muffler Man_ the next time her car was fucked up?

* * *

She waited almost two weeks to call him, stress making her mouth dry and feel like she was chewing glue. She made sure to call at a more decent time- two in the afternoon, and locked herself in her room, sitting on the navy blue comforter on her bed.

It took him four rings to pick up. Four _very_ long rings. When he did pick up, his voice wasn't clouded with sleep like it had been last time, and in fact was a bit jokong. "Battery bad already?"

She bit on the inside of her cheek. "Uhm, no. I was actually wondering-" She cut herself off. What the hell was she doing? Setting herself for major embarassmemt was what she was doing- like the time she spent _weeks_ making a valentine for Tim in ninth grade, only for him to crush her heart the same day, telling her he was gay. For Bart.

"You were wondering...?"

She snapped out of it. It couldn't hurt to try, right? He seemed like a nice guy so if he was already involved with someone, or (in worst case scenario) gay, he'd tell her. Right? "I was wondering about the- your- number? Was, uhm, was-" She was stammering. Fantastic.

She sighed and ended the call before she caused herself anymore embarrassment.

* * *

"What do you mean you fucked up?" Tim asked. She cradled herself, crying while Jack held Rose.

"I mean I-" _sniffle "-Fucked up." _

He sighed, "What'd you do?"_  
_

"I couldn't do it- I couldn't ask him out. I just got scared! What if he's married or gay or not interested because he thinks I'm a snotty bitch or-"

"Whoa, calm down," He soothed. "Now, I know he's not married, and if he's dating someone it's very recent, and I doubt that, he has a lot on his plate. And no one could ever think you're a snotty bitch, hon. And if he asks say your Daddy refuses to let you fly-"

That really made her start bawling. "Tim, I don't let _myself_ fly. _I_ clip my wings."


End file.
